


Swimming In Sevens, Slow Dancing In Seconds

by moodlighting



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Canon Continuation, Humor, M/M, POV Alternating, Post-Kings Rising, Post-The Summer Palace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 08:40:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9430937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodlighting/pseuds/moodlighting
Summary: Two-shot. One night and one morning in the lives of the Kings.





	1. One Night

**Author's Note:**

> I imagine this fic taking place a couple years in the future, when things have pretty much settled for Damen and Laurent. Also, the majority of this story was written prior to the release of The Summer Palace and "in our new palace on the border," so my earlier vision for how their kingdom might operate is no longer canon compliant. Regardless, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Title taken from "Dog Years" by Maggie Rogers

It was a flash of light that finally drew Damen’s eyes away from the ledger book spread across his lap. His neck felt stiff and his eyes were heavy; he’d likely been sorting through the documents for hours now, folded into the window seat at the far end of his chambers. Damen found this spot in the palace particularly useful when he needed to remove himself from all distractions. It was secluded, and quiet, and the open window brought in a fresh breeze that kept his attentions focused. At night, when the sky was black and endless as it was now, there was nothing to draw his eye away from the work he needed to complete.

From the edge of his vision, the light came again. Forcefully blinking away the haze of numbers, written in a cramped, unreadable scrawl between narrow lines, Damen turned to the window. It took a long moment for his eyes and his concentration to refocus.

On the other side the glass, the night was still and starless. The Kings Chambers faced west, overlooking a vast swathe of the ocean by day, from the white waves crashing against the cliffs below, across the Gulf of Atros, to the far reaches of Isthima on the clearest afternoons. The sky and sea were now seamless in the dark, indistinguishable from one another.

Until the horizon was illuminated once more. Across the Ellosean Sea, sudden and stark, a bolt of lightning threaded its way down to earth. Tall, billowing storm clouds surrounded it, cast deep purple and sinister by the light of the strike. Below it, the ocean face reflected the storm like a polished mirror.

Damen smiled to himself. As quickly as the scene had revealed itself to him, the light was gone again, and the world returned to blackness. It felt as familiar as the cool stone of the palace floor beneath his feet, the clothing against his back. He’d grown up with those raging ocean storms, dazzling, dangerous, distant. Resting his chin on a fist against the ledge, he peered under the window frame to watch the world light up again, two twin fingers of lightning reaching down to touch the water.

The ledger books could wait. The numbers they contained weren’t going to change any time soon.

It had been a long, unforgiving week of work, following countless other weeks of work, without respite. Damen had never been bold nor naive enough to think of kingship as easy, nor that governing would not require work on his part. But the unrelenting demands of both Akielos and Vere were beginning to take their toll. Not only on Damen, but on his advisors, his councilors, and, depending on the day, all those who worked in the palace. It was not himself Damen was most concerned about.

Laurent’s presence had also been scarce over the past several days, caught up in his own share of the affairs. Staring morosely out across the ocean, Damen could not accurately recall the last time they had truly been with one another, or had a real conversation. One of them was often asleep by the time the other returned to their chambers, and gone in the morning before the other was awake. Meals were spent with foreign dignitaries, not with each other. They had not had the opportunity to escape the palace walls together in days.

At least, Damen thought, though without much cheer, they had each other to divide the work. To share both the burdens and the privileges of their kingdom, united, together.

It wasn't late, but the longer he watched, the more Damen found his attention slipping away from the storm, his eyelids drooping so low he decided there would be no harm in resting them for a moment. He would return to the ledger books shortly. He just needed to give his eyes a break from the auditor’s miserable penmanship. Gaios was growing older, Damen reminded himself. He needed to have talks with the papermaker about larger lines...

He awoke with a start when the door to his chambers fell shut, his head jerking up from where it rested on the window ledge. He could feel where the lines of the stones had pressed creases into his face. Quickly blinking himself back to a startled consciousness, Damen watched, slightly befuddled by sleep, as Laurent entered the room.

“Laurent,” he said.

Laurent’s eyes found Damen across the room. “Hello,” he said. “Did I disturb you?”

“No, I was just…” Damen looked from the ledger book still open in his lap to the window he’d been sleeping against. “Reading.”

Laurent nodded. From his seat at the window, Damen watched Laurent round the bed and, with an uncharacteristic lack of grace, sit heavily down upon it. His elbows went to his knees, followed by his head into his hands. He pressed the heels of his palms against his closed eyes.

“Laurent,” Damen said again. His voice wavered with concern. “Are you all right?”

After a long moment, slowly, blearily, Laurent returned his gaze to him. Even from a distance, Damen could see that his blue eyes were reddened around the edges, glassy and unfocused.

Laurent took a deep, steadying breath and released it. He laughed quietly. “I’m so tired,” he said, the honesty heavy on his tongue.

Relief stirred in Damen’s chest at the words. Laurent, who he’d watched rule two kingdoms, run across rooftops and scheme his way out of certain disaster, ride with perfect form, and fight for his very life while maintaining implacable self control for days without sleep, and without complaint, was admitting defeat.

Damen would always respect and defend the walls Laurent guarded himself with until Laurent himself chose to lower them. And like every gift Damen received from across the boundaries of those walls - Laurent’s honesty, his memories, his hesitancies - Damen treated this admittance with the care it deserved.

He closed the ledger book and set it aside. Slowly, he stood and approached the bed where Laurent sat, watching him. Not warily, or with any nameable feeling apart from consideration in his eyes. He simply observed him, as Damen often found Laurent doing.

Damen lowered himself to his knees in front of him and reached forward to carefully untie the first of the laces at the base of Laurent’s throat. Sitting still, eyes not shifting from Damen’s face, Laurent allowed it to happen. When the outer portion of the garment finally came loose, the elaborate laces left undone, he raised his arms to help Damen peel it off and away.

Damen felt the weight of Laurent’s gaze upon him and returned it briefly with a small smile. His hands moved to the laces at the front of Laurent’s trousers.

When Laurent’s hands followed, grasping lightly at his wrists, Damen stopped. He let Laurent maneuver his hands a safer distance away, placing them on his knees, and looked up again.

“Damen,” Laurent said, fingers loose around the delicate skin of one wrist, the warm gold cuff of the other. “No.”

Damen kept his hands where Laurent wanted them. Realizing his actions had been misinterpreted, he explained. “You’re exhausted. I thought I would help you into your bedclothes. You'd be more comfortable.” Their eyes caught. “Nothing more than that.”

Laurent held himself still for a heartbeat longer, weighing the offer in his mind. Then he released Damen’s wrists with a nod. He placed his hands on the bed. Carefully, Damen began to thread the simple ties of his trousers back through their eyelets.

“I’m tired too,” Damen said as he focused on the task at hand. Lower, with a breath of laughter, “I fell asleep reading tax records.” He nodded over his shoulder to the window seat, the stacks of ledger books at the base of it.

Laurent laughed too. “Well,” he said. “We won't hold that against you.”

Trousers now loosened around his hips, Laurent lifted himself and helped Damen pull them from each of his legs. Their hands tangled among the trailing laces and fabric folds until finally, Laurent sat in his plain, loose shirt. It shifted on his shoulder, revealing the dip of his collarbone, the familiar scar against his skin. Close to him, still on his knees, Damen could see the creases where the thin white cotton had folded into itself beneath Laurent’s tight clothing. He smoothed his palms down the shirt, down both of Laurent’s sides, then stood.

Before he could step away from him, however, Laurent reached for Damen’s hand. He took it in his own, drawing Damen forward to hold it against his chest.

They gazed at one another. “Thank you,” Laurent said softly. The moment was quiet, interrupted only by the beat of Laurent’s heart against Damen’s fingers.

Damen smiled. In return, he lifted their joined hands and brushed a simple kiss against the back of Laurent’s palm.

Though it was evening, the room was still warm, heavy with humidity lingering in the air, the restlessness of the summer night stirring up storms across the sea. Quietly moving about their chambers, Damen tended to the fire, separating the burning cinders, and closed the grates of the braziers, dimming the light until their surroundings were shrouded in a low amber glow.

He stepped out of his own clothes and made his way to the bed. Laurent had already curled up on the opposite side of it, the single sheet pulled across his body rising and falling with each breath he took. His eyes were closed, his hands loose, folded near his face. He appeared to be asleep. Damen lowered himself gingerly onto the bed, careful not to disturb Laurent, and laid down to face him.

With the Akielon summer still at odds with Laurent’s more temperate northern preferences, Damen had intended to keep an arm’s length away from him; the added body heat would only serve to make both of them uncomfortable on a night like tonight, he reasoned. But as he settled deeper into the bed and finally stilled, it was Laurent who reached out to curl his arm around Damen’s. He grasped his forearm with lax, tired fingers, his thumb gently stroking over the knob of Damen’s wrist for a moment before stopping altogether.

Damen blinked his eyes open, catching a glimpse of blue before Laurent’s eyelids fluttered shut once more. Damen shuffled closer to him, just enough so that he could hold their hands together against his own chest, as Laurent had.

Laurent bowed his head, his forehead coming to rest against Damen’s shoulder. “Will the storm wake us?” Laurent asked, the words clumsy and sleep-heavy.

“No,” Damen murmured in reply. He hadn’t realized Laurent could see the storm from wherever he’d been working in the palace, but of course he had. Nothing would escape the King’s notice.

Turning his head, Damen nosed at the softness of Laurent’s hair, pressing a kiss to it. “It’s too far out on the ocean. It’ll fade before it ever reaches land.”

Laurent’s only acknowledgement was a soft, belated hum in response. Opening his eyes one last time, Damen found Laurent’s lips slack, his breaths lengthening with sleep. Damen smiled helplessly.

“Sleep well, Laurent,” he said.

Distantly, the waves crashed far below the window, the vastness of the ocean almost in time with Laurent’s breathing. Slowly, all sound faded from awareness. Damen drifted.


	2. One Morning

It wasn’t the light that woke Laurent first - it was the heat. Heavy and oppressive, it was a steady weight that occupied space both in the room and in their bed. As he stirred slowly into consciousness, Laurent could feel the thin sheen of sweat that covered his whole body. The cotton of his shirt clung to his spine, his hair falling wet across his face and the back of his neck, his overheated skin.

Laurent groaned softly. He was confident he would never adapt to the ridiculous climate in Ios; his cheeks and skin were always so irritatingly pink here.

Eyes closed, his legs worked slowly to remove the sheet tangled from around his waist. As he shifted in place, he became aware of Damen’s hand on his body, a gentle, steadying weight at the curve of his hip. Not forcing him close, restraining him, but simply keeping him within reach. The thought of it only served to warm Laurent further.

Still not opening his eyes, he carefully moved out from under Damen’s hand, away from the heat of his body that had seeped deep into the bed. Intent on not disturbing his sleep, he let Damen’s hand slowly slide from his waist to the mattress.

He let out a sigh of relief. Freed from the sheet, Laurent spread out his limbs, allowing the tepid, trickle of a breeze from the windows to cool him as best it could. Even for an Akielon summer, Laurent thought, this heat seemed excessive. He had never woken up so uncomfortable before. Often, he could maintain his dignity until at least midday, when the sun rose highest and most inescapably in the sky. Not this early in the morning, when he awoke at first light, when the coolness of night still provided its temporary relief.

That's when Laurent finally opened his eyes.

He lifted his head from the pillow. Sunlight, hot and yellow, streamed in from the open windows and spread across their bed in wide, bright pools. It was as warm as the midday sun. With the light came further awareness. Laurent could hear daytime sounds filtering into the room, voices from the roads below, gulls calling, the bustle of daily life in Ios going on around them. Distant bells sung out from the lower reaches of the city, signalling the start of the afternoon meal.

It was no longer morning at all.

A cool finger of dread traced its way down Laurent’s spine. They had overslept. He recounted the day’s schedule in his head. The convening with the Barbin delegation had begun at -

A rush of panicked energy sent Laurent soaring out of the bed. The pattern of his morning tasks crashed and crowded into one - logic suddenly eluded him. Disordered, he scrambled about the room without cause, his mind attempting to sort through his responsibilities for the day and ready himself all at once. Nonsensically, he moved to pull on his boots and realized he wasn’t wearing pants.

He searched the surrounding furniture, the floor. Across the room he could see Damen’s discarded clothes from the previous day, but none of his own. Laurent swung back around to the bed. Damen was still asleep.

“ _Damen_ ,” he hissed. He was supposed to have assembled the kyroi hours ago. Louder, “ _Damen!_ ”

No response. Laurent rushed back to the bed, clambering across it on his hands and knees until Damen was within swinging distance. He punched him squarely in the arm. Not with bruising force, but certainly enough to startle him awake.

Damen made an irritated sound and stirred, rolling to blink at him blearily, “Wha -”

“Wake up! Get up, we -” Panicked.

Damen’s eyes widened. More awake, becoming more alarmed, “Laurent, what’s -”

“It’s midday, we were not roused on time. We’ve missed the entire -”

Laurent’s urgency finally seemed to register, and no more needed to be said as Damen too launched himself out from under the sheet and bolted from the bed. He proceeded to charge across the room, pick up the pitcher, rethink it, then double back to the bedside. He reached down and began tossing around whatever was in reach in his hurry to find clothes. “What happened?! We were supposed to -”

“I know.” Laurent retrieved the chiton from the dressing table and flung it across the bed in Damen’s direction. Damen caught it in an undignified flurry and dropped it hastily around half his body. He reached down and threw Laurent his pants at him in return, followed by his jacket.

A long, urgent silence followed as they dressed separately. Damen finished first and rounded the bed to assist Laurent with his laces. Laurent switched to the ties of his trousers as Damen took over at the front of his jacket. They worked efficiently, synchronously, until Laurent was presentably trussed into his clothes. There would not be time for full royal panoply today.

Forgoing any further ornamentation, they picked up their capes from where they hung and strode to the door, red and blue velvet whirling over each of their shoulders as they left their chambers. The guards posted outside the entrance called out to their Kings as they walked purposefully by.

“Exalted -”

“Your Majesty -”

The rest of the greetings, typically returned by the Kings themselves, were lost as Laurent and Damen turned into the adjoining hallway. Their guards would have to be questioned at a later time. If talks with the Barbin delegation fell through, the cost of each sanction would come down upon those who failed to wake their Kings at the proper time.

“Is this some kind of coup?” Laurent muttered to Damen as he adjusted the heavy gold clasp of his cape. Adorning the right brooch, he could feel each familiar point of the Veretian starburst; on the left, the head of a lion.

“Overthrowing the regime by forcing an overslept morning?” Damen glanced at Laurent. “Seems ineffective.”

Laurent quirked a smile.

Their quick steps echoed through the passages as they descended closer to the Great Hall. Grim determination set Laurent’s mind to the task at hand - it twisted and surged, planning how best to excuse himself and Damen from this gross breach of etiquette; how he would now bend their audience to his will, regardless of any new hostilities. It was a skill of Laurent’s he thought would never diminish, no matter how peaceful the times.

Their entrance into the main foyer had them speeding up further, until Laurent and Damen were all but dashing across the length of their own palace. Stately, dignified dashing, Laurent insisted to himself. No servants or staff seemed to be present to witness it, at the very least. Rounding the final corner, Laurent’s boots skidded him across the polished floor until he and Damen finally came to a halt before the towering entrance of the Great Hall, the guards awaiting nearby.

Side by side, facing the doors, they paused. They were both slightly out of breath.

Next to him, Damen began to laugh. They looked at one another.

“How bad can it be, really?” Damen said with a chuckle. Together, they’d faced much worse as both princes and kings.

Laurent felt himself smile again. Stepping to the side, he came to stand before Damen. He reached forward to adjust the clasp, identical to his own, across Damen’s chest, bringing the cape to sit evenly on his shoulders. Reaching up further, he sorted his fingers through the mussed waves of Damen’s hair, rearranging what the pillow had left behind. Damen bowed his head to offer him better access.

Deeming him satisfactory, Laurent took a step back. Damen looked up with a pleased smile and assessed him in return, eyes roaming from the tip of his boots to the top of his head.

Then, reaching out to him, “Here, let me just -”

Before Laurent could object, Damen licked each of his palms and applied his hands to the wayward bedhairs undoubtedly haloing Laurent’s entire head.

“Stop. It.” Laurent laughed, swatting Damen’s hands away. Damen burst into laughter too. Laurent said, “I told you to stop doing that.”

“I just want you presentable, Your Majesty,” Damen said, lifting his hands in surrender.

“Enough,” said Laurent, a warning. The presence of the long-ago joke lingered between them. He’d heard these lines countless times before.

Damen continued. “You know, we’re already late, we could just as well -”

“Stop,” Laurent laughed.

“I’m certain -”

“All right,” Laurent said. He quickly stepped into Damen’s space and, taking his face in his hands, brought an end to the arguments before they really began with a swift kiss to his lips.

Satisfied, Laurent returned to his place beside Damen.

Beginning with a deep breath in through his nose, Laurent concentrated now on replacing the grin on his face with the familiar cool, reserved expression of the King of Vere. He allowed his shoulders to drop and straighten, setting his spine with the same resolve found within his mind. Next to him, he felt Damen affecting a similar posture.

Together, they strode forward as one. The double doors swung open in unison to present them to the Great Hall.

What Laurent had expected to find inside the Great Hall was a broiling, impatient crowd in need of mollifying, their demands having gone unmet. What he found, instead, was an empty, echoing chamber, occupied by only Nikandros and Jord, lounging on the steps at the foot of the dais, indulging in what appeared to be cards and an assortment of cheeses.

The surprise of the scene had Laurent slowing to a stop at the center of the hall, bringing Damen to a halt as well.

Their entrance, having gone unnoticed in favor of the card game, was announced by the sound of Damen’s voice. “Is that - is that salted pork?” he called out.

Both Jord and Nikandros startled out of their sprawl, dropping tidbits of food and nearly upending a wine cup in their haste. They fell forward into very precise bows.

“Your Majesty -”

“Exalted -”

Laurent’s eyes narrowed. Again, he had no time for paltry greetings. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded. “Where is the Barbin delegation?”

“Your Majesty,” Jord began again. “The Barbin delegation has been accompanied to Isthima for a tour of the fisheries, they will reconvene following -”

“On whose order?”

Jord and Nikandros exchanged an apprehensive look. Neither answered.

“Well?” said Damen.

Steadily, Nikandros met Laurent’s gaze. “Yours, Your Majesty.”

Laurent scowled. “I certainly did not order the _Barbin delegation_ to be taken to the _fisheries_.” The stink alone would knock them flat on their backs. Perhaps this _was_ a coup.

Silently, Jord handed a leaflet of paper, scrolled and bound with cord, to Laurent. He unrolled it, scanning the missive it contained inside. Written in a suspiciously Akielon hand was a royal decree from the King of Vere, requesting the Barbin delegation to be taken to the fisheries of Isthima to promote cross-border commerce regarding fish oil and the potential expansion of sustainable pisciculture in deference to Barbin agronomic advances.

That did sound like something he would say. Privately, Laurent had begun evaluating how best to broaden the Isthima fish trade beyond local seaports. He had not yet brought that particular goal to council, however.

“This signature is not mine. Forged,” Laurent said, passing the missive back to Jord. His eyes returned to Nikandros. “Your work, I presume?”

Nikandros stared back. He had grown bolder over the years, which Laurent admired. He enjoyed a good verbal spar with Nikandros now and then, when the man wasn’t actively disturbing carefully coordinated political affairs.

“Yes,” Nikandros said. “You needed rest,” he explained. He looked to Damen. “You both did. It’s been weeks since you’ve had a reprieve. Not since the skirmish in Dice, which the Kings should not have involved themselves in to begin with -”

Damen moved to protest, but his efforts were wasted as Nikandros plowed on. “ _And from which_ you never took the time to recover properly. Don’t deny it, Damianos, you haven’t been to the practice arena in days. And we’ve all seen how you favor your left shoulder.”

Damen’s mouth snapped shut. Laurent felt his eyebrows raise.

Slightly less defiant, Jord stepped forward. “Nikandros and I brought our...proposal to the council first, Your Majesty. They agreed.” He said, “You can’t be expected to rule with no time for rest. We determined a solution for the Barbin delegation which would not need require your involvement, Exalted, Your Majesty.” Jord looked between Damen and Laurent before promptly lowering himself to one knee. Nikandros, somewhat begrudgingly, followed suit. “However,” Jord said, “Nikandros and I freely accept the consequences for any action you deem inadmissible to the crown.”

The Great Hall descended into silence. To his left, Laurent saw Damen glance in his direction, as if he half expected Laurent to launch into a verbal dressing down at any moment, as he had in days past, or as he perhaps would standing before their troops.

Instead, Laurent considered the present outcomes of their advisors’ scheming.

He felt more well-rested than he had in weeks. Damen as well seemed to have that familiar, refreshed glow about him. The sun was shining - hot, but perhaps pleasant by the sea. The Barbin delegation had likely been maneuvered into a better arrangement than Laurent and Damen could have accomplished through talks alone. The day was still young.

Over Nikandros and Jord’s bowed heads, Laurent’s eyes found the cards and cheeses left abandoned on the bottom-most step, the scatter of coins between each man’s place.

“Rise,” Laurent said. Jord and Nikandros stood before them. Laurent let the moment linger until it verged toward discomfort. For effect. “Who was winning that hand?” he asked finally, gesturing to the game behind them.

Jord and Nikandros shared another glance.

“Er, Nikandros, Your Majesty,” Jord said.

Laurent nodded. “I’ll place three gold sideris on Jord taking the pot.” Next to him, he could feel Damen trying and failing to hide his amusement, his face transforming into a grin. He always did enjoy taking part in Laurent’s games. Laurent turned to him, attempting to hold back his own smile. “Nikandros and Jord have gone through a great amount of effort and risk to impose a day of rest upon us, wouldn’t you say?” he asked.

Damen did his best to compose himself, straightening his brow in seriousness. He nodded sagely.

“We might as well indulge,” said Laurent. Punctuating this decision, Laurent gave a seemingly baffled Nikandros an affable clap on the shoulder. “Enjoy the rest of your day.” He looked to Jord. “Both of you.”

With that, Laurent made his exit, Damen beside him, still beaming. They made it out of the Great Hall, past the foyer, and into a more private corridor before they both burst into laughter, stumbling to a halt next to the nearest statue.

When Damen’s hands found his hips, Laurent allowed himself to be gently backed up against the cool marble wall. They stood close, gladly taking up each other’s space, their faces nearly touching. “You should be nicer to them,” Damen said, still laughing. He bumped his nose against Laurent’s, tracing a line affectionately alongside it.

Laurent lifted his chin, defiant. Their faces suddenly much closer, only breath separated their lips. “What? I was just having a little fun. They wanted us to relax. I found it very relaxing.”

“Still,” Damen said. His eyes had lowered now, focused on Laurent’s mouth.

Laurent smiled wider. He tilted his face even closer, making his intent clear as he sought Damen’s kiss. It was happily given, their lips sliding sweetly together, Damen’s thumb tender on his cheek, fingertips stroking at the fine hairs behind his ear. Laurent twined his hands at the back of Damen’s neck. He could nearly taste the excitement on their lips, the unexpected freedom opening up before them for the day, the smile on Damen’s face nearly preventing the kiss altogether.

They did not step apart when their lips finally separated. Eyes closed, Laurent could feel every place they still touched; Damen’s hands on his body, the heat of Damen’s skin beneath his palms; softness when their lips brushed again as Damen said, “What would you like to do today?”

Laurent opened his eyes, met Damen’s warm gaze. “I have some ideas.”

**Author's Note:**

> And that's how Nikandros and Jord invented Saturdays.
> 
> [fic post](http://mooodlighting.tumblr.com/post/156242711900/swimming-in-sevens-slow-dancing-in-seconds) \- [twitter](https://twitter.com/damen_ebooks)


End file.
